The Heat
by Little Obsessions
Summary: "Of course your Majesty; a queen is never late, everyone else is simply early." In this heat, he can't bare her one infuriating habit.


_Thank you for reading this. It's literally plot-less, fluffy, what kind of banter do they have? Fluff. Which is my favourite kind to write. Please R&R._

There are a number of things she is very good at he thinks, distractedly, as he readjusts the holster of his gun. It is unsavoury that he carries one, but he has to. He's sweating, it's blisteringly hot, the holster is digging into him from over his damp shirt – and she has a public appearance that she was due to leave for 3 minutes ago. He checks the Rolex (a gift from her) that is around his wrist. 5 minutes now. He can't be bothered today and she's keeping him waiting. She's good at diplomacy, she's good at hosting, she's good at having men eating out the palm of her hand, she's very good at having an intimate understanding of the economy and the principles of politics.

She's crap (and crap is the word he'd use) at being on time. That's a word the princess would use – 'crap'. He's adopted it. He rather likes it.

The maids have flung open the doors and the sashes, and the curtains are sitting evenly and still. There is no breeze to come by in this country. It's a day for going for a run then a few laps in the pool – not standing in Mertz opening the new pier. There might be a breeze by the sea, he comforts himself. He wrestles his leather jacket off, revealing the holster, and pulls impatiently on the buckle to lessen it. What will she wear? Something floaty – just a little transparent. Maybe Genovian lace. He likes that.

"Olivia?"

He doesn't mean to bark at the girl but, as she startles and jumps at her name, he realises he's frightened her.

"Sorry," he hands her the jacket, "I didn't mean to frighten you. Would you go to my suite and fetch my cotton one please?"

"The black one, sir?"

"Of course the black one," he answers stonily, ignoring her teasing.

"Maybe if you wore something else you wouldn't be so warm," she says rather childishly as she sticks her tongue out. He forgets that Clarisse's new maid is only in her twenties – it must be a nightmare working around so many grumpy, serious people. He's always had a soft-spot for her because she's her own worst enemy. She's a fan of too much gossip and not enough work. Clarisse has confided in him that she'd fire her if she weren't so good at dressing her hair.

"Olivia," he laughs, "Keep your opinion to yourself. Go get my jacket..."

"No bother," she walks away, heading in the wrong direction as she exits the doors.

He doesn't even bother correcting her. If his queen's previous lateness (and he has a mental library of reference) is anything to go by, he has time for Olivia to get lost at least twice before she comes through the doors of her chamber, ready to leave for her tenth public appearance this week. He takes a moment to step out onto the balcony, vainly seeking out some coolness – her roses are blooming, surrounding her. He is used to warm weather, and loves the luxuries of air conditioning that the palace has to offer, but Clarisse never switches it on. When it's this warm, no one should have to work. His thoughts are muddles in this heat.

"Come on Joseph," he turns at the sound.

She's standing in the doorway. She looks radiant – there is no other word, in his extensive vocabulary of words that are reserved for his mental description of her - to describe how her beauty is operating today.

"We're late."

"You're late," he answers, readjusting his sunglasses, "And now I have to wait for my jacket."

"You don't need a jacket," she answers, motioning for him to follow her. He follows her into the office and out into the darkness, and blessed coolness, of the marble halls.

"I don't know if you noticed your majesty but I am, as Mia puts it, 'packing heat'."

"I don't know," she says darkly, "What that means but it sounds filthy."

"Just in your head," he answers, motioning to the holster, "It means I have a weapon."

"Oh, I do hate that thing," she agrees, "Hide it."

"I would," he growls lowly, gripping her elbow for emphasis, "If you'd let me wait on my jacket."

"Really Joseph," she says, "You knew the time we were leaving. You should have been better organised."

He can't discern whether or not she's teasing him and, in all honesty, he's not sure that his impatience is letting him judge it clearly.

"God damn you woman," he says suddenly.

"Oh grumpy," she looks over her shoulder at him, a wicked smile on her lips, "For a Spaniard, you don't handle the heat very well."

"For a queen, you're never on time," he grouches, embarrassed at his over reaction,"You-"

"Olivia!" Clarisse sings as they come into the foyer, interrupting what was about to be a rather rude response, "That must be the Head of Security's jacket you have there. He needs it...it's making us late."

He takes the offered jacket from a grinning Olivia and snarls at her barely suppressed amusement.

He runs to catch up with the queen, who's hips are swinging as she descends the stairs. They're teasing him, they're all teasing him and in this heat he cannot manage it.

They slide into the Bentley, which is white, and he immediately orders Shades to put the air conditioning on. It's a welcome relief as it kisses its way over his olive skin, cooling him down.

"Oh Joseph," she touches his knee, making him flinch, "Don't rumple your jacket like that, it will get all creased."

He looks down at his fists, realises he's been gripping the material between annoyed fingers, and relaxes.

"Don't worry, Colonel grump," she smiles, "We'll get you an ice cream at the beach." 

Despite himself, he smiles at her cruel humour. He finds her very funny, in all honesty. He's never found a woman funny before. Sexy, yes, funny – no. She laughs.

"I am a grump," he answers, "It is just so bloody warm."

"Joseph!" She reprimands.

"Sorry, such language in front of a queen. One would never expect to hear it from your mouth," he rolls his eyes.

"It is bloody warm," she whispers, intertwining his fingers with hers, "And it's been a bloody busy week and I was late, I am sorry."

"You're always late though!" He answers, a little churlish, "What keeps you, really? Don't bother, don't answer that. Don't shatter my illusions."

"Putting this face on," she answers haughtily, "And it would slide off if it weren't for air conditioning in cars."

"Ok, ok," he squeezes her fingers, "I am sorry I groused at you."

"That's okay. Bear in mind though my dear; a queen is never late, everyone else is simply early."

"You're infuriating."

"I know."

"You better buy me that ice cream," he murmurs. 

"I know," she kisses his cheek, "Better?"

"Yes, your Spaniard is better," he smirks.

"I like you my sweaty, grumpy, handsome, 'heat packing' Spaniard."

"You're right, it does sound filthy," he answers.

"Your queen rather likes it," she takes his jacket from him and smooths over it, reversing roles by holding it out for him. She slips it over his arms as he leans forwards. It is an odd role-reversal. She leans forward and kisses the damp nape of his neck.

"Right, public appearance then ice cream, as agreed?"

"As agreed, my Spaniard," she answers, "Then you can go for a run, as is your habit in the heat, and if you play your cards right, I may even join you for a dip in the pool."

He laughs, "Don't be late for your dip in the pool. I'd hate to miss that."

They have arrived. The heat infuriates them. The cold does too. It's wearing the mask that's becoming impossibly overwhelming. That's what's bothering them both really – the weather just heightens it. The nearer it comes to Mia taking the crown, a year from now, the more tantalizing the possibilities become. The heat is the least of their problems. She moves away from him, drops his hand. He slides out and strides around, opening the door for her.

"The only reason I'd be late," she says out of the side of her mouth, though she couldn't be heard over the din of the crowd, "Is if you were early. Remember what I told you."

"Of course your Majesty; a queen is never late, everyone else is simply early."


End file.
